A Midnight Miracle

by Gary Parker

  Jenna followed her, both presents still in hand. Gas logs burned in the fireplace but gave off little heat. Her mom sat down on a brown leather sofa by the fireplace. After putting the gift boxes by the expensive artificial tree that sat opposite the fireplace, Jenna took a seat across from her mom. Her mom wore a pair of pleated gray slacks, a green turtleneck wool sweater, and a pair of stud pearl earrings. Her lipstick looked freshly applied and her makeup as prim as if put on by a professional. As always, every dyed hair on her head lay exactly in place. If Jesus came in the middle of the night, her mom would fall out of bed to meet him looking like the front of Mature Woman fashion magazine.

  “I wish you two would try to get along,” Jenna said. “You’ve been divorced over six years, should have come to terms with each other by now.”

  “He’s a baby,” her mom said, nose high. “Never has grown up.”

  Jenna sighed and suddenly felt weary of the familiar arguments and age-old hostilities. She had heard the story so many times, always from her mom. Her mom had come from an established Asheville family—people with land handed down through several generations. Margaret’s father, an attorney at the city’s leading law firm, had once served as mayor of that big mountain city and chair of the elders at the main street Episcopal church. The Cliburns were as close to aristocrats as most mountain people ever saw.

  Her dad had originated from the opposite side of the tracks, from a crossroads about fifteen miles outside of Winston-Salem. Her mom had met him in a freshman English class at UNC—a handsome boy with a slouch in his wide shoulders and a shock of black hair falling into his brown eyes. He laughed easily, and his carefree ways attracted her at the time, a welcome break from the stodgy atmosphere her mother and father maintained at home. He came from a long line of common laborers, not a dime anywhere, but he planned to change that, and she liked the energy his ambition created. The twinkle in his eye delighted her too, and the string of practical jokes he carried out on his friends just came with the package. Her mom thought all of that was exciting before the marriage.

  Within weeks after the wedding though, she began to see his humor as mostly out of place. After all, a family man shouldn’t act like a schoolboy, should he? A family man had duties to assume, responsibilities that called for a more straight-laced approach.

  Henry’s goofy humor hadn’t been the worst of his offenses though. In fact, Margaret often told Jenna she might have managed to accept his silliness if he had done the right thing regarding a couple of other matters. Like his choice of career after he completed his business degree. Margaret’s father offered him a perfectly wonderful position as office manager at his law firm. To her mother’s horror, however, Henry refused to take it. Even worse, he eagerly informed Margaret that he’d already accepted a job with a real estate firm in a place called Hilltop.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Margaret had pleaded. “I can’t live anywhere but Asheville!”

  “Why should I live in Asheville?” Henry asked. “Ride your daddy’s coattails? I want to make my own way.”

  Margaret argued, but to no avail. What else could she do? She couldn’t cause a stink so soon after the wedding. Her pliant mother had taught her that. “The man leads,” her mother had often said. “The woman’s duty is to follow.”

  “But what if he’s leading you over a cliff?”

  “You find ways to redirect the trip. But you can’t ever let him know you’re doing the guiding.”

  Too young to know how to do that, Margaret had no choice but to move to Hilltop. For a couple of years, she thought she’d die there. To make it worse, Henry refused to accept any money from her parents to help in their transition.

  “I’ll not live on your father’s dole,” Henry kept repeating when her folks sent them a check and he mailed it back. “I’ll not be obligated to them.”

  Margaret always pressed him. “You wouldn’t have to work such long hours if you’d accept their generosity,” she pleaded, upset at all the time she spent alone, even on weekends. “You could come home at a decent hour.”

  “Look,” he pleaded. “I know your dad came home at 5 p.m. every day. And I’ve never seen him do a thing for his work on a weekend. But he’s got that luxury. His family spent decades building a business; all he’s got to do is hold it in line. He’s hired other people to handle the after-hours stuff. I don’t have that.”

  “But you could,” she argued. “I’m sure dad will set you up with a real estate company in Asheville if that’s what you want.”

  Henry shook his head, and the dispute became an ongoing point of difference between them. Year after year he hustled all over, taking appointments at all hours of the day and night. Margaret spent a lot of time home alone, her reserved temperament and slightly snobby ways keeping her from making friends fast or easily.

  Gradually, Henry built his business into a successful venture. As he did, he moved them through a succession of houses until they finally bought the nice two-story brick place on close to twenty acres where Margaret still lived. Just as gradually, Margaret made some friends and became a pillar of the community—chairwoman of the Ladies’ League, head of the Hospitality Committee at the Community Church, member of the Garden Club. Although quiet around strangers, Margaret slowly loosened up, and people came to know they could depend on her. Without planning it, she sank roots into the mountain soil.

  Henry’s business boomed in the eighties and nineties as people from all over the country, seeking quiet living, moved into the county. Yet no matter how much money he made, real estate earnings always made Margaret feel slightly soiled, like it didn’t count as much if it didn’t come from an old family mattress somewhere.

  Looking back on it, Jenna knew that both parents carried blame for the failure of their marriage. In many ways, her dad never did grow up. On the other hand, her mom never really relaxed. The things they’d liked about each other at the beginning became the things they also hated. Perhaps they were doomed from the start.

  Gradually, the problems mounted. Margaret continued to press Henry to move to Asheville, but he stayed firm in saying no. He kept asking her to have more children, but she told him she felt fine with the one they had. She stopped laughing at his jokes. That just seemed to spur him toward more craziness. She poured her time into community charities. He worked longer hours. She resented him. He ignored her.

  Then Margaret’s father died, and she tried one more time to make Henry move. “My mother needs me,” she kept repeating.

  “You live twenty miles away,” Henry said. “Go see her every day if you want. But we’re not moving.”

  The space between them grew wider. One day Henry came home and found his clothes moved out of their room to a smaller bedroom down the hall. In retaliation, one day when Margaret went to see her mom, he called in some painters and had her bedroom painted pink. To get back at him, Margaret spent a lot of money but refused to keep up with checkbooks or receipts. So Henry stopped depositing money to her account. Margaret failed to tell him when people called requesting information about property. He decided to make Saturday night a poker night at their house with ten of his best buddies.

  Finally, twenty-six years after their wedding, the day came when neither of them could take it anymore, and they divorced. To everyone’s surprise, Margaret chose to stay in Hilltop after it ended. “I’ve made my peace with this place,” she explained. “Might as well stay now.”

  Although wanting to believe her, Jenna suspected her mom had stayed to bedevil Henry too, to make sure he didn’t have free rein to say whatever he wanted about her after she’d left.

  Now, almost seven years later, the bickering continued and Jenna felt caught right in the middle. She wished once more she’d never moved back to Hilltop. But what choice did she have?

  “How’s the Strack boy?” her mom asked, breaking the silence and bringing Jenna back to the moment.

  “Not good. I’m afraid we’re not going to make it.”

 
“The paper says you still need over two hundred thousand dollars.”

  “We’ve got a long way to go.”

  “I’ll give five thousand,” her mom said.

  Jenna’s mouth dropped for a second, but then she caught herself. Her mom did a lot of charitable things, usually when you least expected it.

  “That’s generous,” she said softly. “I’m sure the family will appreciate it.”

  “I don’t want them to know it was from me,” she said. “Just write me down for the pledge.”

  “You’re a kind woman,” Jenna said.

  “I do have a heart. Though I think you and your dad sometimes forget that.”

  Jenna smiled. “You do keep us guessing,” she said.

  “You headed to the hospital in a while?” Margaret asked.

  “Eventually,” Jenna said.

  “You spend more time with the Stracks than you do with me.”

  Jenna scowled at the turn in her mom’s tone but wasn’t surprised by it. “I come by here every day,” Jenna said.

  “You don’t stay long.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

  Jenna’s blood pressure rose as she saw the familiar pattern start to play out. Her mom had just done a nice thing by pledging the five thousand dollars. But then she’d shifted, made a statement to make Jenna feel guilty in an effort to control her. Jenna had resented it and said something mean in return. Her mom had become a victim, the poor injured mom just trying to stay close to her daughter.

  “I’m going to leave now,” Jenna said, “before we both say something we’ll regret this close to Christmas. I’ll call you later.”

  “Go on then.” Margaret sniffed. “You always run; it’s your best thing.”

  Jenna’s anger boiled, and she almost took the bait but then realized that Henry’s appearance had upset her mom, made her even more sensitive than usual. She stepped to Margaret and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll call you when I get home,” she said. “And thanks again for the donation.”

  Margaret shrugged, and Jenna headed to the door. As she opened it, Margaret spoke. “You got a phone call this morning,” she said. “A man.”

  Jenna turned back. “Reverend Hart?”

  “No, somebody I didn’t know.”

  “He leave a name?”

  “Rem, I think. You know him?”

  Jenna shut the door and faced her mom. “From a long time back,” she said. “He’s Roscoe Lincoln’s son. I went to high school with him.”

  “Why is he calling you?”

  “You’d have to ask him that. I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  “Don’t get smart with me.”

  “He leave a number?”

  “No.”

  “You tell him when you’d see me?”

  “No.”

  “Did you give him my work number?”

  “No. He didn’t ask, and I saw no reason to volunteer it.”

  Jenna started to leave but then hesitated. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she suddenly wanted to see Rem. “He say if he’d call back?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Jenna leaned against the door frame. The notion of having somebody from outside Hilltop to talk to sure seemed attractive. Of course, she hadn’t treated him too well last night . . . but since he’d called, that meant he hadn’t let that put him off too much.

  Margaret stood and walked Jenna’s way. “What’s your interest in this man?” she asked.

  “He’s an old friend,” she said. “Nothing more than that.”

  “Good,” Margaret said. “He’s here for Christmas, then gone. You don’t need to get mixed up with somebody like that. Men are no good; it’s best to leave them alone if you can. You don’t need them.”

  Jenna stared at her mom. What did she know about what she needed or didn’t need when it came to men?

  She thought about calling Rem at his dad’s house. Was that too forward? In the old days, yes. But these days, who knew?

  Her mom put a hand on her elbow. “You’re doing fine without a man,” she soothed. “You and me, we’re making it okay.”

  Jenna’s eyes suddenly watered. Was she making it okay? She certainly didn’t feel like it. She’d messed up at love. No, not at marriage, because no man had wanted her enough to marry her. But love, she’d shown she had no clue about that. And Mickey’s situation? She might as well admit she’d never raise enough money for the transplant. Here she was, thirty years old, living in a small apartment in a nowhere town with her stiff, controlling mom and childish dad. What kind of life was this? What did she have to look forward to? Nothing, that’s what, and she could see no way to change it.

  “I need to go,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “I know,” Margaret said. “Call me after you get home.”

  Jenna nodded. Her mom gently brushed back her hair, and Jenna again noted the contrast. Cold, hard in one minute; caring, nurturing in the next. Was she the same way? Was that part of her struggle? She certainly hoped not.

  “You’ll feel better soon,” Margaret said. “Christmas is almost here. You always feel better at Christmas.”

  Jenna hugged her mom, then walked out. At her car, she paused and stared into the sky. Unless something highly unusual happened this year, not even Christmas would make her feel better this time.

  6

  Rem reached Nelson’s house just after dark, a bouquet of flowers for Julie on the front seat. He’d thought about bringing a bottle of wine but didn’t know how appropriate that was for a preacher. Parking his car, he thought of Jenna and wished he could have reached her. If nothing else, she’d have given him some buffer from any hard-sell conversion efforts Nelson might try. Harder to put the religious squeeze on a guy with somebody else in the room, he figured.

  Rem flipped open his cell phone to check his messages one more time as he climbed out but quickly saw that Jenna hadn’t called back. Disappointed, he closed the phone and slipped it into his pocket. He’d tried Jenna at her apartment and her mom’s house, had left his number on Jenna’s answering machine. Obviously, she didn’t want to talk to him. He climbed the steps to Nelson’s door and started to knock, but the door opened before he could. Nelson stepped outside, a slender redhead at his side.

  “Come on in,” Nelson said. “Honey, this is Rem Lincoln.”

  Rem handed Julie the flowers and shook her hand. Julie smelled the flowers. “Nelson tells me you used to be the sane one,” she said with a smile. “Says you got him home a few times when he was rather indisposed.”

  “You mean he’s already given you all my blackmail material?”

  “I think so.”

  They all laughed as Julie led them into the house. Rem glanced quickly around. Lots of pictures covered the walls in the entry, most of them nature photographs. Julie led them into a small den area. Again, a variety of nature photographs covered the walls.

  “Who’s the photographer?” Rem asked, pausing by a striking picture of a hummingbird hovering over a box filled with yellow flowers.

  “Nelson,” Julie said. “He’s a man of many talents.”

  Nelson pointed Rem to a leather chair. “I took it up when I went to seminary,” he said.

  “They’re amazing,” Rem said.

  “I enjoy it,” Nelson said. “Calms me, and you know I need a lot of calming.”

  Rem studied his old friend. “I’m real confused,” he said with a smirk. “You’re a different guy than the one I knew.”

  “Can you keep a secret?” Nelson asked, looking around as if to make sure no one else heard them.

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not really Nelson,” Nelson whispered. “I’m an alien. The real Nelson is on a spaceship out past Mars somewhere.”

  Rem laughed.

  “I need to put these in some water,” Julie said, holding up the flowers, “then check dinner.”

  “It smells great,” Rem said, getting a whiff of fried chicke
n. “You need any help?”

  “No, you guys catch up. I’ll yell when it’s ready.”

  Rem eased into the chair. Nelson took a spot on a love seat across from him.

  “Julie’s beautiful,” Rem said. “Lots better than you deserve.”

  “The Lord is still in the miracle-working business,” Nelson said.

  “Seems so.”

  “What’s new with your love life?” Nelson asked. “Don’t remember you having many peers in that department.”

  “I date a lot,” Rem said. “But nobody special right now.”

  “I figured you to be married by now,” Nelson said. “Maybe more than once.”

  “That’s not funny,” Rem said in mock offense.

  “Don’t tell me you’re getting sensitive in your old age.”

  Rem threw a cushion at him.

  “Sorry your date didn’t work out tonight,” Nelson said. “Who’d you ask?”

  Rem shrugged. He’d called Nelson earlier and told him he’d be coming solo. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Never did reach her.”

  The phone rang and Nelson picked it up. Rem stood and studied the wall photos—animals of all shapes and sizes, flowers, mountain streams, sunsets, and sunrises. Nelson seemed to have a gift for photography.

  “Hey, Rem?”

  Rem faced Nelson, who had the phone mouthpiece covered with one hand. “You mind if we add a fourth to dinner?”

  “What’s the deal?”

  “A friend is asking Julie and me to go get ice cream. But you’re here and we can’t do that, so I thought maybe we could just ask her over.”

  “It’s a ‘her’?”

  “Yeah, a woman named Jenna—maybe you know her.”

  Rem raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t set this up, did you?”

  “No way!”

  Rem did some quick thinking. When he’d left his message on Jenna’s machine, he’d said nothing about dinner plans with Nelson. Strange that it had worked out this way, but what difference did it make? He’d have protection from Nelson and get to spend a couple of hours with an attractive woman. What harm could come from that?

  “It’s fine by me,” he said.